


Quietus

by imsuchamess



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hannibal is a SAP, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Violent Thoughts, au where escaping to europe is feasible, lol, pretentious art stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsuchamess/pseuds/imsuchamess
Summary: warnings: implied sex, violent thoughts, kissing, jokes about cannibalism, blooda snippet from will and hannibal's life after the fall in which vienna is both incredibly romantic and inevitably brutal





	Quietus

**Author's Note:**

> **this is the music hannibal selected https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQtoOWqZ_J4**  
> ***the sculpture i reference is The Kiss by Rodin n like. their relation to dante's work***

In nothing but boxers and a thin t-shirt, Will steps out onto the balcony, and the evening breeze cools his sweat-slicked skin. He trails his fingers over the chilled railing, admiring the way the otherwise unfeeling iron bars twirl and dance around each other to form elaborate scrolls. What little of Vienna he saw during their drive from the airport was similarly remarkable. The sharp lines of modern, illusion-like structures exist alongside the endless opulence of baroque buildings—juxtapositions fashioned into an altogether beautiful cityscape. It isn’t difficult to see why this is one of Hannibal’s favorite places.

The music Hannibal selected earlier bleeds into the distant hum of Viennese nightlife. If Will recalls correctly, the symphony is by Rachmaninoff, but since Hannibal was explaining the selection to him while entangling Will in silken sheets and raking sharp fingernails down his back, he wasn’t exactly focused on the music lesson. He is paying attention now, however, and the notes seem to bloom and weep and shout as they emerge from the hotel room, joining the gossamer drapes in billowing around Will’s body.

Hannibal’s voice echoes behind him, arranging some ride for some upcoming excursion, and Will smiles to himself. Of course, Hannibal knows exactly which Viennese attraction will properly commence their stay, and he’s no doubt got every moment of the next few weeks planned with equal precision. 

Undoubtedly, the ever-present threat of discovery could easily ruin said plans. Jack is still reaching for any hopeful thread he wants to believe remains attached to Will, but he and Hannibal know that all ties to their previous life were severed on the knife’s edge of the eroding bluff. 

There is no pendulum, no transformation, no distance between Will and his imagination as he envisions Jack’s head impaled on the elegant balcony railing, his righteous blood seeping down the imposingly lovely scrolls to rain on the streets below. It’s beautiful and it’s fitting. Jack was as worldly as he was brutal, a persistent force of nature, but a mortal all the same. Will wonders if Hannibal would approve, or if he might have something more compelling in mind. Goosebumps break out on his dampened skin.

“Looking at you, my dear boy, I am reminded of the heavens.” Will turns around as Hannibal speaks. The older man approaches him soundlessly, cinching a crisp burgundy robe around his waist, “The city lights have become stars, these floating curtains: clouds. You, with your crystalline eyes and loose curls, are rather like a descended angel.” He caresses Will’s cheek; thumb tracing his jawline, smudging the charcoal lines of his celestial portrait.

The old Will, more uncertain but smarter, perhaps, would have recoiled at such lavish affections. He felt compelled to deny himself the beauty of what Hannibal always knew him to be. Retreating from Hannibal’s touch, he would’ve used his own precarious sense of self to deflect any romanticism, but it was a poorly forged shield. Now, Will grips the meticulously folded collar of Hannibal’s robe and pulls closer.

“I think ‘fallen’ might be a more accurate choice of words.”

Their lips meet, open and warm, and they ease into a languid rhythm. Will’s fingertips dance over solid shoulders, through endearingly overgrown hair, and across cheekbones made of glass. He rests his hands on either side of his neck, and Hannibal mirrors his actions. As hands press against Will’s throat, he’s reminded that those long fingers and sturdy palms can bruise, break, butcher. At any moment, Hannibal could choose to satisfy his aching, predatory hunger with his most beloved prey. Will’s breath hitches.

“Your heartbeat...” Hannibal murmurs, breathless and eager as if he’s caught something new.

“Like a caged bird,” Will offers. Hannibal smiles.

They continue to kiss, tongues and arms wrapping around each other in a familiarly desperate embrace. In this moment, they remind Will of Rodin’s most passionate lovers. Marble bodies grasping, arching, needing—saved from damnation by their reckless beauty.

“If I were to open up your chest, releasing the restless bird into the night sky, would it return to me?” Hannibal muses. They detach only slightly, lingering in each other’s air.

“With twigs for your nest and a creature in it's a beak,” he replies. A flash of pride illuminates Hannibal’s expression. Another confirmation of their bond, another successful round of Will’s cyclical training. These past weeks, Hannibal has graciously allowed Will to prowl and provoke, meeting each infraction with a frightening combination of amusement and punishment. Will has learned how to please, and how to enjoy it. Not a lapdog by any means, but a wolf who’s willing to present his leash to a fellow predator.

Flickers of warmth are kindled in each of their abdomens, the flames lick at their minds and threaten to burst forth. Will reaches for Hannibal, his gaze fixed on the robe’s belt, but the other catches his hand, entwining their fingers. Will pouts as the corners of Hannibal’s mouth turn upwards, entertained.

“We really ought to go to bed,” he reluctantly sidesteps the craving in Will’s eyes, “We have a very busy day tomorrow, darling.” Will huffs, yielding to his rationale and the jetlag pulling at his eyelids.

“Sightseeing, touring, dining...” He accompanies Hannibal back inside, shuts the balcony doors, and turns to find the other settling into their canopy bed, surrounded by haphazardly tossed pillows and twisted sheets, a threat creeping into his smile.

“Indeed, all of the above, but I’m most looking forward to introducing you to the finest cuisine Vienna has to offer.”

A bird has followed them indoors, gliding past them to perch on the headboard. Just a fledgling, it grooms ebony plumage with a blood-stained beak. The crimson trickles down each feather and over it's talons, pooling on the pillows below. Will wonders if Hannibal can see it, too.

“I can’t wait—I’m  _ famished _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> responses of any kind are greatly appreciated!!!


End file.
